


You Made Me

by CrowKing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Ramsay is His Own Warning, The North remembers, Torture, fic request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowKing/pseuds/CrowKing
Summary: Request: Hey hi! I love your works :) Can I request a Ramsay x Reader modern one-shot based on MONSTER by Starset where the girl, who maybe is a redhead, is super fascinated by Ramsay's violent and bloody behaviours or something like that?





	You Made Me

“You! What are you doing?” the new head of servants ordered you. You stopped in your tracks. A wooden box shifted in your hands. You could hear the metal moving around inside. The former head of servants rolled his eyes and patted the shoulder of his successor. 

“Let her go,” his low voice worked in your favor. “She’s not yours to order around. She’s the exception.”

“You told me no one is allowed to out of bed at this hour,” the successor’s shrill voice and big, porous nose made him ill to look at. The former’s eyes flashed back to you and the wooden box. The kitchen’s warmth had died hours ago after dinner was served. The empty chill of the Winterfell kitchens was more haunting than the crypts sometimes.

“No one is allowed out of bed at this hour except her. She’s got a job to do.”

“At THIS hour?” the successor was growing confused and he was delaying you. You had to be there on time. You had a perfect record. You couldn’t ruin it now. You looked back at the former with urgency.

“She’s the only one who can do it. I’ll explain later,” the former nodded at you. “Go on now.” You grabbed the bag of apples and scrunched your nose at your new boss. He scoffed and continued nightly rounds with the former. 

Wild red curls bounced behind you as your quiet, quick footsteps descended into the dungeons. Most castle dungeons held criminals with loud mouths and disobedient behavior. Most women were afraid to walk through these parts of the castle. It wasn’t that you were particularly brave. Winterfell had new masters now. 

An uneasy silence settled into the walls. The floor was covered in dirt, stone, and bits of blood. Some blood was stained into the bars. Other drops and prints decorated the walls of cells. Thieves cowered in corners. One favored his left wrist and wished he still had his hand. A murderer on your left had his eyes wide open watching his neighbor across from him. 

Candlelight lit up the cell. A male peasant lay on a board. His wrists and ankles tethered to the splintering wood. His breathing was uneasy, but when you walked in his eyes held a slight amount of hope. The peasant opened his mouth, but someone else spoke first.

“You’re late,” Ramsay Bolton said. His back leaned against the cold stone wall. His narrowed eyes pointed at your chest. You set the bag of apples and the wooden box on a small table inside the cell. “What happened? Never mind. You’re here now, so I can begin.”

Ramsay strolled over to the wooden box and began to take things out and put tools back in, not sure what to start with first. You liked watching his mental decision making. His fingers floated above a weird hammer, but then floated above a series of hooks. Each one thicker than the one before it. You heard some tapping behind you. 

The peasant caught your eye again. His finger tapped against the wood. His wide eyes glanced at Ramsay and back to you. Seems as if he wanted you to help him escape, or at least get him away from Ramsay. You stood there and blinked, not answering the peasant’s plea for help. 

“He’s a traitor. Mostly harmless except he made it to Stannis,” Ramsay explained. “Had a bit of a run did we?” He asked the prisoner.

“M-m-my lord I—

“Aren’t you happy here? My father and I have made Winterfell a wonderful place to live. There’s food. There’s shelter. There’s peace here. What more could you want? Unless, you’re not happy here.” Ramsay held his flaying knife in hand. His favorite. What would he do first? Question him? Slice him? Play a game? Ramsay never had the same torture session twice. You appreciated that. You liked variety. 

He stopped at the peasant’s right arm first. He was a strong fellow with muscular arms. You’d expect he needed more than one man to tie him up. The peasant looked to you again, this time Ramsay caught him.

“Oh, you like her don’t you? She is very pretty to look at. I do like redheads.” Ramsay encircled him, passing you. His finger brushed your curls out of your face. “She’s also very useful to me.”

“You ruined her, took her virtue didn’t you?” the peasant asked. His flat brown hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes hardened. “Disgusting.”

Ramsay chuckled. “I didn’t take her virtue, you stupid oaf. I took other things from her. Like I will take things from you. Why did you run to Stannis?”

His lips formed one firm line. Ramsay wasn’t in the mood to play any games. He immediately cut the man once. A slash across his left arm. You watched the skin break and the blood ooze from the cut. It was quick, meaning the cut burned him. The peasant winced, inhaling his pain. 

“I don’t repeat questions,” Ramsay stood right next to you. His free hand found the small of your back. “If he doesn’t answer, get me the medium hook and the silver pliers. I have an idea for him.” The peasant stared at you again while Ramsay spoke orders in your ear. His foot pointed towards the set of keys on the small table. He was silently asking for your help again. He wasn’t the first prisoner to ask for help. You had a friendly face and a nonthreatening vibe which was exactly why Ramsay kept you at his side at all times. 

The peasant kept silent. He was hiding something. He told Stannis something about the Boltons. Or some weak point of Winterfell. You reached inside the box and handled the tools Ramsay specified. They were clean and cold to the touch. 

“What did you tell Stannis?” As you handed Ramsay the tools, he grew short. “Well, if you don’t plan on talking, I’ll guess you won’t miss your teeth.”

Ramsay took the hook and forced the peasant’s mouth open. Ramsay took the pliers and picked a tooth. The cold tool closed in on the tooth. In one swift motion, Ramsay removed a single tooth from the peasant’s mouth. He screamed in pain. Blood hung on the roots of the tooth. This man had a whole set of teeth. It would take a long time to get through it all if he didn’t speak. You smiled to yourself. This was going to be a good night.

“Do you like it? Would you like to keep it?” Ramsay handed over the tooth to you. Your fingers felt the grooves and the sharpness of the tooth. You smiled again, appreciative of Ramsay’s small gift. “Would you like another one?”

“Another one?” the peasant moaned out loud. 

“You going to tell me what you told Stannis?” Ramsay’s hook dragged his mouth back further. You thought the hook pierced his skin on the inside. The peasant stayed quiet. What an idiot. Ramsay’s pliers tugged on a front tooth. He twisted it out this time with no regard to the victim’s feelings. This tooth was deformed, maybe a cavity ruined it. The peasant groaned in pain again. Blood started to drip down the side of his mouth.

Ramsay gave you the second tooth to hold and keep. You bit down your lip, trying to not seem over-excited. Two gifts! How wonderful. The peasant moaned, more sweat formed on his head. He wiggled around, but no success. He was tied down tight. 

“What’s wrong with you?!” He screamed at you. “What are you waiting for, huh? Get help! The North Remembers!” You only stood there looking at the poor soul. 

“You know her?” Ramsay smiled. Cogs in his head started to turn. “Of course you would. Both of you come from the same village. I should’ve known. Do you know this man?” Ramsay pointed at him. You nodded. 

“Is that why you’ve been looking at her this whole time? You think she’s going to help you? She can’t.” Ramsay held out his hand to your jaw. “Open, sweetling.”

You opened your mouth for the peasant. He saw your deformed and stitched tongue. It was mostly all gone save for the stump that wiggled in your mouth. 

“She can’t speak. I took that from her. Under the knife she surrendered to me. I consumed all innocence she had. Cut it all away, filled her with sense, and sent her into a silent hell. She’s learned from then.”

“You did ruin her.” The peasant you knew was breaking. Hs strength earned him many odd jobs. He liked to build things, but he could also man handle anyone. He wasn’t scared of much. His eyes twitched. You closed your mouth. Ramsay softly kissed your cheek.

“Since then, she’s been the perfect assistant. She brings me what I want, and I let her enjoy the show. I guess you could say she’s product of her environment.”

“Enjoy the show?” The last word almost cut off by Ramsay jamming the pliers into his mouth again. The tool clamped around another back tooth. Ramsay tugged and pulled, but it didn’t come out as easily. The peasant roared in pain once again until Ramsay pulled out the entire tooth. Roots, crown, and all. More blood dripped down his chin. Tears streamed down his face.

“She likes it. Don’t you, sweetling?” You took the third tooth with glee and nodded. Your eyes fell to the peasant’s face again. His ragged breathing and growing anger told you two things. One, he would crack soon and tell Ramsay everything he needed to know. Two, something grand would happen if he kept silent.

“You’re sick. You ruined a very sweet girl,” the peasant spat. “I did what I had to do. You will ruin the North! You and your bloody father! The North Remembers what you did! You ruined her like you will ruin everything else!”

Ramsay smiled as he put a hammer into your hand. You made a gasping noise, asking him if he was sure. He nodded and kissed your head. He did prefer redheads. You took the hammer into your hands. A first for you. A gift for you. 

“I didn’t ruin her,” Ramsay said. The peasant eyed you with your new weapon. You brought the hammer back, aiming it for his face. Ramsay turned the peasant’s face so he can see himsquirm one last time. “I made her.”

You swung the hammer into his eye. Before he could realize the pain he was in, you swung it again and again. Until the peasant could no longer speak or see or breathe. Blood was splattered all over yourself and Ramsay. You let the hammer fall to your side, proud of your own work. You heard Ramsay’s applause. 

“Good girl. Next time, I’ll teach you how to not make a mess,” Ramsay took the hammer from you and put it back into the box along with the other weapons. An emptiness took over you again as if Ramsay took away a piece of you that you just discovered. It wasn’t Ramsay’s fault. You had grown in a darkness that you couldn’t escape from. Ramsay didn’t save you from it. He showed you how to adapt to it. He taught you to survive in it.

Ramsay took your hand and led you out of the cell. Slowly and surely, Ramsay replaced every sweet part of you into monstrous ones.


End file.
